


Turn At Last To Home Afar

by KayleeArafinwiel



Series: Into The West - NaQua2020 & Beyond [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/KayleeArafinwiel
Summary: 'Yet feet that wandering have gone, turn at last to home afar.' The HobbitIt is time for the wanderers, pressing their need to sail to Aman, to be welcomed home. But will a Mortal be welcomed on Elven shores, no matter his deeds, or who his wife and son may be?
Relationships: Eärendil/Elwing (Tolkien), Idril Celebrindal/Tuor/Voronwë
Series: Into The West - NaQua2020 & Beyond [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021737
Kudos: 15





	1. Our Love Is Like Water

**Author's Note:**

> Written for NaQuaWriMo 2020, "National Quality Writing Month", where I work every day to write to a prompt and make the writing the best quality I can offer, regardless of the quantity (unless, of course, the quantity is the prompt.)

Write a story where a decision must be made.

'Our love is like water, pinned down and abused for being strange.' -Live, 'All Over You'

***

_"Ammë! Ammë!"_

Strands of golden hair clung to her hand as she startled awake at the cry.

Her own, she realised, wincing with the pain. "Ardamirë?" she whispered, looking about. All she could see was dark fog.

Lost, she realised, we are lost. Dimly, she recognised other fallen strands littering the bottom of the boat. How long in the mist? she wondered. Has this happened before?

"Itarillënya?" Her husband kissed her on the brow, eyes darkening with concern. 

"How long?" she croaked. "We are lost. Where? How long?" She searched his gaze, noticing his own golden hair streaked with silver strands, silvered with age.

Tuor kissed her again, his cheeks damp with tears. "Do not weep, meldenya," he murmured. "We are lost. What of it? We have each other."

Idril shuddered. "Do not," she whispered. "Atar told me, do not tempt...them. They could easily separate us, you know. Such an unnatural bond as ours," she sneered through her tears, echoing the sentiments of their detractors. "I was a fool to think such as we should ever..."

  
"Do not," Tuor replied, echoing Idril's words more firmly and placing a finger over her lips. "If I could, I would walk beside you for all the ages of Arda, bound to you in more than heart, cleave to you body and soul as any other nér would. I would give you the bond you deserve, and not leave you bereft at the end of my years."

"Would you indeed, son of Huor?"

Tuor and Idril both jumped, looking around them, but there was nothing to be seen. The dark, mellifluous voice, which Idril had only heard once before, had come out of seemingly nowhere. Idril shrank away, into Tuor's embrace, and he tightened his arms around her.

"If it were possible," Tuor said slowly. 

"Say it again," the Voice commanded. "Speak clearly your intent, lest mistake be made."

Tuor closed his eyes, trying to remember the formal language his father-in-law had taught him so long ago. " I, Tuor son of Huor of the House of Hador and the kindred of Húrin, Lord of the House of the Wing, beloved of Idril Celebrindal, father of Eärendil Ardamirë, acknowledge that I am a son of the Secondborn; but having wedded a daughter of the Firstborn, and led warriors of that kindred, having sired a prince of the Eldalië, I would fain stay by my lady for all time, in love and loyalty to serve, until the fate of her kindred befall, and beg the grace of aging but slowly, as do those of her kind. I would abjure the Gift of Ilúvatar to my kindred and accept the fate of my wife's people, if such grace might to me be given."

  
"So you speak, and so you intend?" the Voice inquired, and Tuor nodded, steeling his nerve.

"So I speak, so I intend. Valar valuvar," Tuor added.

"Oh, that we do, that we do indeed," the Voice replied, and there was a smile in its - his? - tone that had not existed before.

Suddenly, the mist was pierced by the light of a single bright star. Or was that...

"The Silmaril," Idril whispered, eyes wide.

"Follow the light, my children," the Voice said. "We await your homecoming."

The mist brightened in the silver light, and Tuor pressed on, eyes round with wonder.

It might have been hours or days, he knew not how long he kept rowing, but at last...at last, the boat came to rest on silver sands strewn with pearls and gems.

Waiting for them was Lord Námo, who raised Idril to her feet and helped her from the boat. "Welcome home, daughter of the Noldolië," he murmured. She trembled in the Vala's embrace, remembering a forbidding figure speaking Doom on the cliffs above...

"Nay!" Námo broke through her thoughts. "Thou wert a child, Itarildë. No blame do we place on thee, wife of Tuor."

Idril nodded shakily as Tuor got out of the boat, stepping uncertainly onto the sands.

He exhaled in relief when nothing happened. _What were you expecting, Tuor?_ he asked himself sardonically.

"A bolt of lightning, perhaps, Atya?"

Tuor paused, looking around...then up.

There was a ship of _mithril_ and _virin_ floating above his head, and standing on the deck...

"Atto, Ammë," Eärendil laughed. "I am so glad you are here. So very glad." 

He threw down the rope ladder, and they scrambled up to embrace their son.

Námo smiled. He did so enjoy family reunions.


	2. Happy Birthday, Love (Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first morning in Aman, Tuor wakes to a new life, with Idril beside him.

Day 4: Write a birthday story in under 100 words (honestly, I'm not sure I quite succeeded lol. Hope you enjoy, anyway!)

***

"Happy birthday, my love."

Tuor opened his eyes blearily. "Hmmm? What birthday?" he asked, sitting up as Idril rubbed his shoulders gently. He was reclining on a settee in a warm room, covered by a blanket, but all else was unclear in the dim candlelight. He could just make out his wife seated behind him, leaning over his shoulder.

"Does it truly matter, meldonya? It is only a day, albeit a day to be celebrated. You need never concern yourself with the number again."

Idril ran her fingers through his hair as memory flooded him. "I am an Elda...or near enough."

"Indeed," Idril agreed, offering a bite of blessed lembas. 

The Elven bread melted in his mouth, honey-sweet.


	3. Power-ful Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later, Tuor and Idril join their son for a tour of Vingilótë, and Tuor notices the advice given his son by the Valar.

Day 6: Write a story in the form of a “job aid”  
  


***

Tuor and Idril walked the deck of Vingilótë, startled at the hull of mithril and virin. "Ah, yonya, when you built this craft, was she not made of birchwood?" he offered. Not that he had personally seen his son build her, but all their ships had been of the wood of Nimbrethil.

Eärendil laughed. "Well, yes, Atar. But when the Valar, erm...repurposed her, they had to alter her a bit. She could not sail the skies like this."

Idril gave their son a searching look. "Yes, you will have to explain to us how you came to do that." They followed Eärendil to sit on a bench on the deck, allowing him to dip up clear, fresh water from the barrel sitting there into goblets for them. He focused on his parents as Earellont, Falathar, and Aerandir worked on flying the ship.

"Well, Ammë, it all started with the Silmaril, as you might expect..."

As Eärendil talked, his parents listened, but a sign above the water barrel caught their gaze.

_Remember'st thou, heir of Turucáno, art as beloved of Eru as we, and full worthy to do thine appointed task. Never doubt His love for thee even in thy darkest hour - or ours. Thou wilt be a light to others in darkness, when all other lights have failed._

It was signed, simply,

 _Námo_. 

A frisson of awe ran through Tuor and Idril at the implications of that, and they were only too glad to remain seated on the deck, bathed in silver light and sipping the refreshing water slowly as Vingilótë flew onward.


	4. A Haven of Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home at last, Earendil takes his parents to the library. (Picture a cross between Elrond's Library in "Lord of the Rings: Online" if you've played that, and the Beast's library from Beauty and the Beast.)

Day 8: Write a story involving a ladder

Tuor and Idril had been lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the ship as it flew onward. They were quite surprised when their son gently woke them and bade them rise. The elven-glass and mithril craft had been made fast to the dock on the Tower of Aewellond, the Bird-haven, and the gangplank thrown down to the roof.

The pair descended, looking about with wide eyes as they found their footing and were escorted down a winding stair. 

"Come, Atto, Amme, I will take you to a place where you may refresh yourselves," Eärendil entreated them, and they were only too glad to follow him to their suite. 

Separate bedrooms - well, it wasn't likely they would be used that way, Idril thought dryly, though she saw they each had a pallet at the end of their respective beds for an attendant to sleep. She rolled her eyes and began mentally preparing an explanation to her son about extravagance, but then paused.

 _Silly child,_ she could almost hear her aunt's voice rebuke her. _You are a princess of Eldamar._

"Hmm," Idril murmured, looking around as she walked hand in hand through the bathing room and dressing room that joined their bedrooms. They proceeded back through Tuor's room, and a door past that opened to...

Well.

Tuor stood with his mouth agape, looking at the shelves and rows of scrolls and books, eyes round as saucers. "M-mine?" he stammered, stumbling forward and steadying himself on the scrubbed wooden table.

Idril took his arm, and escorted Tuor toward the tall ladder leaning against a shelf, running her fingers over the smooth, polished wood. "I believe they mean for you to make an especial study of our language and history, meldonya."

"I shall be a diligent student," Tuor promised, stunned.

Idril's smile was positively wicked. "I shall know if you are not."

Tuor blushed.


	5. A Whirl of Excitement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New-made Elda or no, Tuor still has susceptibility to some Mortal difficulties...
> 
> (Has anyone warned the Elves that vertigo is a thing?)

Day 10: Write a story that involves vertigo

"Master Tuor, you must come down from there." Aerandir looked thoroughly exasperated, He'd used the ramp to walk to the upper level, but as Tuor had scrambled up the wheeled ladder, the Man-turned-Elda had got stuck at the top, clinging as the ladder rolled along. Not that he was terrified - no, Tuor was whooping and laughing like an elfling. At least at first.

As the ladder rolled past, Erellont grabbed hold of the top rung to stop it. "Master Tuor." It was just as well that the Tancol had been formed and Eärendil need only sail Vingilótë when he pleased, the Elf thought. If they were needed to safeguard their lord's father from himself...

Falathar grabbed the ladder at the bottom, holding it still. "Steady now, Master Tuor, come down," he called up.

"I...I can't," Tuor whispered, swaying. 

Cursing under his breath, Aerandir bolted forward and grabbed Tuor, dragging him off the ladder and to safety. "Breathe, Master Tuor, I have you safe. Tell me what is wrong."

"Th-the room's spinning," Tuor whispered, shutting his eyes.

"No it is not," Aerandir promised. "It just seems so to you. Breathe, keep your eyes closed and I will see you to the healer, Master Tuor." 

Tuor could only give a weak nod in agreement as Aerandir scooped him up, carrying him like a child out the upper-level door and out into the corridor that led to the healing wing.


	6. Enter the Lady

Day 12: Write a story involving “a face at the window”

When Tuor stirred next, it was to find himself tucked into bed, a sheet of white linen covering him. How long have I been sleeping? he wondered, for he could not even remember falling asleep - the last he recalled was being carried off in Aerandir's arms.

Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position. The room was no longer spinning, whether in truth or just in his mind, and he felt better for that. He looked about; the chamber he was in was clearly a healing ward, with a dozen or so beds like his, he judged, some separated by wooden screens. His bed was not screened, and indeed had a window nearby, looking out into the garden.

There was someone looking back at him through the window, and Tuor gave a start as a young elleth entered, tucking her dark plait into a coiled bun as she stood in the doorway before approaching him. She showed no hesitance in approaching, which surprised him; most of the Elves he had met so far were uneasy around a Man.

The elleth was dressed in pale blue trainee healer's robes, the white and purple stripes on the hems indicating she was an apprentice in service to both the Lord Irmo and Lady Este. The elleth's dark hair and grey eyes spoke of clear Lindarin - or perhaps Sindarin heritage, he thought. As she approached, he noted the silver strands and pearls woven into her plaited bun, and when she spoke, he knew.

"Good day, Atto. It is a pleasure to see you awake at last."

Tuor blushed. He hadn't seen Elwing properly since he and Idril had arrived, since she had stayed out of the way to give Eärendil more time with them. "It is a pleasure to be awake, and know that I am safe and well," he replied, "and also to know you are safe and well, daughter. How long have I slept?"

"More than a full day," Elwing said apologetically. "I had not considered how healing sleep might affect one who had been Mortal." 

Well, that explained why he remembered nothing. Tuor grimaced. "If I am permitted, daughter, I think I should like to use the privy, and have something to eat."

Elwing nodded. "The privy is through that door," she explained, assisting Tuor to stand and helping him to it. Luckily his legs were steady. "I shall inform Amme that you have woken, and have food brought. If you need help, Erellont is at hand." She did not want to embarrass her father-in-law by assisting him in such a state. 

"I will be fine, Elwing," Tuor promised, though he was glad of the reassurance, and breathed a sigh of relief when Elwing closed the door and left him to see to his own needs.

By the time Tuor returned to his bed, Idril was waiting for him with a tray of soup, bread, and cheese, along with a soothing tea, and she smiled. 

"I am glad to see you awake, meldonya. Eat slowly, the food isn't going anywhere."

"Yes, meldenya," he agreed, and paced himself as he ate, with Idril seated nearby. When he was finished, Tuor felt far better.

He would have to be careful around ladders from now on.


	7. Dear Adar...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to the library once he has healed, Tuor finds a letter.

Day 14: You find a letter to/about yourself…

When Tuor and Idril returned to their rooms, Tuor ventured back to the library. "I had better confront my fears, melda," he told Idril, who gave him a chiding look. "No more ladders."

"For now, no," he agreed ruefully, and he stuck to finding books on the lower shelves, going to sit down at a table to study.

One book had something folded up and stuck carelessly inside, which he dislodged as he opened it. "What's this?" Tuor whispered to no one in particular. Carefully, he unfolded it.

_Atya_ , he saw at the top of the page in his son's familiar handwriting, and froze before continuing. _I know you will likely never read this, and yet I feel I must write this missive. I know not where you and ammë have gone, but I have doomed myself and Elwing for the saving of many. The holy jewel which Cousin Galadriel clasped round my neck is beyond the reach of the sons of Fëanáro, for I must bear it through the high heavens, likely for all time..._

Tuor set the letter down, his heart racing, and closed his eyes. _In through your nose and out through your mouth,_ he remembered a healer's directive from long past. Breathe deeply and slowly. He obeyed the voice of memory and soon felt himself calming, though his shoulders still shook. "Eärendilonya," he whispered. "My son...and yet he is here, not taken from me as this letter would seem to claim." 

He had much to discuss with his son in coming days, Tuor decided. What on Arda had happened here? He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he was certain he had to find out. 


	8. On To Tirion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Tuor and Idril get acclimated to Aewellond, the Bird-haven at Elwing's Tower, they decide to venture further into Aman.

Day 16: “He suggested we play charades for one reason:”

Tuor and Idril remained sequestered at Aewellond for some time, but at last they had the urge to travel to Tirion. "For," Idril had said, "I would see my former home once more." 

Eärendil had agreed, and they left together, not on Vingilótë but by ship as far as Alqualondë, then with a travelling party on horseback. He wondered if his anatar had been returned yet, but doubted it - surely a Maia would have notified them if that were so.

They travelled in peace for many days, unmolested by passersby despite the curious glances and stares they received from some. Idril rode at the head of the party, wearing a circlet in the fashion of menelluin blossoms, cornflowers wrought of gold and sapphire, and a mantle of the same hue wrapped about her shoulders over her riding gown. Tuor wore the emblems of the House of the White Wing of Gondolin, and Eärendil his own personal emblem. Falathar, Aerandir, and Erellont rode beside and behind Tuor and Eärendil in the position of guards.

When they neared the gates, Aerandir moved forward ahead of them, unfurling his lord's banner. "Make way for Eärendil Perelda, Heir of Túrucáno," he proclaimed.

The ellon standing next to the gate guards raised an eyebrow. He spoke loudly and slowly, with sweeping gestures. "What dost thou, seldo? Who is thy lord that he must needs be announced in such fashion? Túrucáno is a Kinslayer I deem, traitor to kith and kin, an Etyangol and a dead one." 

Idril bristled and Tuor rested a hand on her shoulder. "Peace, melda," he soothed.

"Where is my sword, Erellont?" Idril demanded in a hiss.

Erellont stirred. "My lady?"

"My sword, seldo," Idril snapped. Erellont flinched, wincing, and Idril grimaced, but this was not the time to ask Erellont's pardon. She took her sword from the ellon and rode forward, drawing the glinting steel. "Who art thou, that name my atar kinslayer and traitor?"

The ellon's eyes widened. "Nissi do not wield blades."

"Do they not." Idril pressed the tip of her blade against the ellon's chest. "Your name."

"My name is Lord Axantur," the ellon replied.

"Uncle's chamberlain?" Idril did not remember Axantur well - she had only been a small elfling when they had marched into Exile - but she had studied, as Tuor had, and committed the names of her uncle's court to memory. 

"I am the Noldóran's Chamberlain and Master of Ceremonies." Axantur looked hard at her. "Túrucáno is your atar, you say. Then you are Princess Itarildë?" 

"I am." Idril withdrew her blade an inch. "I have changed much since last we met, I daresay."

Axantur nodded slowly. "And who is the Engwa? Must I play charades with your pet, Princess?" 

Idril replaced her blade firmly. "The engwa is an Eruhin no less than thou, seldo. He is my husband and the father of our son." This use of seldo was its most insulting inflection yet, thrown in the face of one old enough to be her great-grandsire. She had no right at all to call him boy and he knew it, yet he did not retort. 

"Your pardon, Princess. I will see Aran Arafinwe knows his niece and...nephews...are come." 

"Thank you," Idril said with an edge of sarcasm Axantur chose to ignore. She released him, and as Axantur strode away, Idril slumped in her saddle. "Pompous ass," she muttered the moment he was gone.

Tuor laughed. "Your atto was right, meldanya, thou delightest indeed in 'bright pointy things.' We neri ought to have a care." Idril was far more dangerous with a sword than he, though she had certainly surprised Axantur with that knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Seldo" means "boy", and is used as an insult (especially if the one so addressed is older than the person saying it). Engwa means "the sickly" and is a name for a Mortal (which Tuor is not any longer).


	9. Meeting Uncle Arafinwe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eärendil and his parents are ushered into the presence of the Noldòran in a less than expected location, and have a brief encounter with unexpected relatives.

Day 18: Write a story about a roll of the dice

When a page came to lead the group to the Noldòran, Idril took a deep breath. She noticed Tuor looking uncertain, and took his hand as they walked in the midst of the group with Eärendil. The halls of the palace were much the same as Idril recalled - what she could remember, anyway - and she realised that her atar had based the palace of Gondolin on Tirion's citadel.

They were escorted, not to the throne room but to the gaming hall, much to Idril's surprise.

It was mostly empty, but in one corner a few elves were playing at dice. Two golden heads and one dark were bent over the game, fixed earnestly upon it, and as the dark-haired ellon took his turn he gave a crow of delight. "I won," he said gleefully. "I won, did you see, Ara?"

"I see, Nolo," came the quiet response. "Now go with Finda and he shall see thou art rewarded properly."

"Come," the other golden-haired elf entreated, and 'Nolo' allowed himself to be led away. Idril gave a slight start as she realised just who the two had been.

Arafinwë sat up and gestured for Idril, Tuor and Eärendil to join him at the gaming table. They sat dutifully, and the Noldóran offered an apologetic smile. "Forgive me for not meeting you in a more private location. Ñolofinwë...well...desired to play." 

"Reborn," Eärendil replied with a shrug, and Arafinwë laughed.

"Indeed, yonya, indeed. Now, hinyar, know that ye are welcome to Tirion, and shall be under my protection. Let none defy that decree on pain of Our royal displeasure," he added.

Idril's lips twitched. "Even Axantur, Uncle?"

  
"What has Axantur done?" Arafinwe demanded, all levity gone. As Idril told him what had happened at the gates, the Noldoran's visage darkened like a thundercloud.

"Lord Axantur," he promised, "shall be dealt with. Have no fear, Nephews, ye are safe under my protection. No Eruhin shall be permitted to break the Valar's Peace while I am Noldóran." 

Tuor and Earendil bowed their heads in acknowledgement, letting out sighs of relief.

"We thank thee, Uncle," Earendil murmured, and Tuor nodded agreement.

"Oh, do not thank me just yet, Nephews." Arafinwe's eyes glimmered in amusement. He wondered just how Axantur was faring, for surely Findarato would have heard of his faux pas by now...


	10. Axantur and the King (of Nargothrond) - Interlude/Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axantur is made to answer for his inexcusable rudeness. Being Lord High Chamberlain and Master of Ceremonies to the Noldòran doesn't get you far when Idril has been insulted...

Day 20: Tell a story in exactly 20 words.

***

"Findaráto...Highness."

Finrod's smile was frigid. "Axantur. We have spoken of this before."

The _We,_ unmistakable. Axantur cringed.

"Your Majesty."


End file.
